KKM Seek 4 'Gazebo'
by tigersilver
Summary: Yuuri and Wolfram have an assignation in one of Wolfram's favorite hiding places, a secluded gazebo. Funny thing is, Yuuri isn't sure he remembers quite what it is that Wolf-chan wants to 'practice'.


Seek 4: Gazebo

"Yuuri! Pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

A rose bud nodded in agreement. The dark-haired boy shivered, his slate grey eyes wide and startled.

"We _need_ to do this, Yuuri. It's important." Wolfram settled both hands on his trim blue hips and stared at the apprehensive Maou, taking one step closer still. "I want you to make sure you put actual effort into it this time, wimp, for all our sakes! You have to _try_!'

The blonde soldier brought his perfectly pointy chin down in a sharp nod and the Maou nodded vaguely back, bemused. Just why was he here, again?

"Ah, uh-huh…but. But, what about _lunch_, Wolf-chan? Greta's expecting us!"

A heedless breeze chose that moment to wend its way through the curlicued white-painted gazebo and coaxed all the roses atremble: hundreds upon hundreds of them, red and white and pale pink and yellow, blue, violet and aqua-hued, their saw-edged glossy leaves whispering against petals finer than the thinnest silk, softer than the wind itself. The scattered scents were deep and rich, infusing the green cave the oft' deserted gazebo became in the height of summer with an aroma that stunned, and delighted, and ultimately overwhelmed with sensuous sweetness. It was an utterly private place, this one – one of Wolfram's favorites - and Yuuri could feel the sweat roll down his back when he considered what_ that_ might mean.

"Greta is all taken care of, wimp. Don't you remember? She's dining with my mother today – and _Anissina_." The implication plain that they would not be interrupted, the blonde ex-Prince advanced again, lightly on his booted feet, his lovely face threatening a petulant frown.

"_You_ said you'd have lunch with _me_ today, Yuuri! Just me! Don't tell me you forgot about that, _too!"_

Yuuri blinked fast and hard and edged ever so slightly away, attempting to make it appear as though he hadn't actually retreated. If only he could remember exactly what it was Wolfram wanted him to try _doing_, that would be really helpful. Or if say, Gunter appeared suddenly, demanding his presence in the study, or maybe Conrad, or Gwendal --- any one of those eventualities, so common when he was actually trying to remain hidden – any one of those might be useful right at this moment.

This _uncomfortable_ moment.

"But, but – I really _am_ hungry, Wolf-chan! How about we do this – this 'practice' thingy _after _lunch?"

The Maou's stomach rumbled its heartfelt agreement and Yuuri literally gulped at Wolfram's sudden acutely irate expression, manfully swallowing what tasted alarmingly like battery acid. No, no – it was 'fear' he was swallowing, plain and simple. Why did Wolf-chan have to be so…very…_angry_? All the time?

The blonde hair sparkled in the muted sea-green sunlight as it was casually brushed back from a brow white as snow by a hand that was long and elegant and manicured. The Maou barely noticed the luxuriance of wheaten-gold strands tumbling into place as he fought a rising tide of distinct painful unease. He was only marginally distracted by that ever present ethereal glow of Wolf-chan's as he struggled to remember what had been said in the wee hours of the morning. What was that again, that fearsome memory hiding at the very back of his conscious mind?

"Don't you dare try to wiggle out of this, you snake-in-the-grass!" Wolfram stomped one heel like a flamenco dancer. "You _promised_ me, Yuuri!"

"D-Did I?" Somehow, Yuuri had found that oddly…charming?

Two steps forward and Wolfram had his fiancé collared. His emerald eyes glittered feverishly in the dim, fragrant undersea light of the gazebo. Yuuri flinched, expecting anger -- but that wasn't at all the direction in which Wolf was headed.

"I-I mean, I _did_?"

Wolf-chan's posy pink lips seemed a whisper from his own, looming ever larger on Yuuri's event horizon. Yuuri shuddered, ruefully realizing that it was _excitement_ he was feeling, not simple, completely understandable panic.

Not much difference there.

"Besides, Yuuri, it might be…fun," Wolf-chan was drawling, tilted his bright head at an angle. "You might _enjoy_ it."

A half-lidded emerald gaze met Yuuri's dead-on and captured it hands-down and the hapless Maou was entangled in fascinating shards of layered jade and topaz, peridot and turquoise, shaded by lashes thick and sooty as black feather fans unfurled. He was breathless and dizzy immediately, or more so, his pulse taking off like a rocket, and could do nothing but stand motionless within the gentle cage of fingertips, not fighting this, no longer even _thinking _about fighting.

Damn it, damn it, _shit!_ Why, oh why, did Wolfram always have to do this to him? Why did he have the disarming ability to move from aggressive to enchanting in a mere half-second? And why was Yuuri so damned susceptible?

The hands at his collar moved slowly to Yuuri's jaw, cupping it gently, the pad of one calloused thumb circling lightly on Yuuri's nearly invisible dimple. Wolfram leaned in another millimeter, and the breathless Maou was treated to an exceptionally strong whiff of that particular beguilingly light scent his fiancé always wore, a gulp of which he inhaled instantly and gratefully as relief from the overpowering aroma of heady roses, his black lashes fluttering his sensory pleasure. Wolf-chan immediately quirked his perfectly formed lips into one of the sweetest, most anticipatory smiles the young Demon King had ever had directed his way…and shifted nearer still, positively sparkling.

Oh, god. Wolf-chan was just so damned….damned _perfect_!

The Maou blushed pink as the petals wafting past him and mumbled a bit in automatic self-defense, sliding his dizzy dark eyes away from those enthralling green ones. It was true; he _had_ promised, but he'd been three-quarters asleep when Wolf-chan asked him – told him – his presence would be required in the South-South-East Rose Garden at precisely eleven o'clock that very day. For luncheon, and for 'practice'. In the chilling light of dawn, when he'd groggily asked what _kind _of practice, a hurried Wolfram had turned toward the door and mumbled something nearly completely unintelligible, the tips of his ears all rosy, and then was gone as swiftly as ever, off to breakfast.

"Yuuri."

By nine a.m., Yuuri had managed to completely convince himself that he hadn't heard the dreaded word 'kiss'.

"Uh…yeah."

"Yuuri, you said you would."

By ten, he managed to translate it incorrectly into the word 'miss', which then caused him to wonder vaguely as to Wolf-chan's agenda and assume that it was likely to be painful – to his pride, to his person, to his peace.

"Well…um."

"Can't I trust you?"

By eleven, he'd forgotten the conversation altogether, thankfully. He was on his way into the courtyard when his fiancé caught him, and being Wolfram, naturally he didn't let go. Yuuri was dragged off willy-nilly and for once his other courtiers did nothing to save him. Even Conrad only gave him a cheery wave of farewell.

The blonde in question here had just fetched up another dangerous inch nearer, so that his shiny uniform buttons were now firmly pressed against the gap in Yuuri's black summer-weight wool jacket. His other hand crept slyly onto Yuuri's shoulder and curved ever so gently round the Maou's neck, caressing.

"Well. No. Yes! I mean. Actually, I just meant _lunch_, Wolf-chan, not kissing, precisely---I mean."

Wolfram growled, menacing in a way that Yuuri had only seen a very few times before.

"Yuuuuriii!"

"Not that—" Yuuri stumbled.

Emerald eyes bloomed dark and broody – disappointed? Yuuri thought. Well, he was sorry, but he hadn't quite understood this morning, not fully, at least – and he wasn't _ready_—

"You see."

Wolf-chan blinked. Rapidly. His chin was tilted just at that angle and what Yuuri saw—oh, what Yuuri saw was enough to make his heart lodge at the very toes of his shiny black shoes, unworthy.

The Maou swallowed. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to avoid a misty dark jade that was utterly heart-wrenching.

"I didn't—" Oh, he was sure to burn in Hell for this _somehow_. No man should ever be forgiven for making Wolf-chan look like that. _He _certainly didn't want to be. Kill him now.

"You _promised_ me, Yuuri."

His fiancé's voice was so soft, reed-thin, nearly a whisper, and at the very bottom of its throaty register, there was the very definite threat of tears.

But Wolf-chan was always, always surprising. Yuuri could never quite figure him out. The Maou's betrothed was now nestled – nestled! – into Yuuri's heaving chest and raising his perfectly pointed chin, perfect rosy lips parted beseechingly. His remarkable eyes glittered – oh, yes. Those were tears.

Shinou help him. Yuuri was doomed.

There was a long, low table stationed just behind Yuuri, covered with a snowy white cloth. An ornate wicker basket stood atop it, next to a stack of gilt-edged porcelain plates, silver cutlery and a heavily plated wine bucket, all obviously the doings of the pouting blonde now definitely clinging to him. All unnoticed till the mingled odors of various delicious things wafted up, so enticing that the Maou had his shaking knees wedged firmly against the table's edge in an effort to get closer, and an embarrassingly and long abdominal groan erupted before Yuuri could do anything to stop it. Not that he could - he really _was_ dying of hunger here – Günter had run him ragged, literally, and then so had Conrad, filling in this morning for the mysteriously absent fiancé, disarming him five times precisely before he'd even caught his breath from fleeing the last of boring lessons. Plus he'd spent a good part of the morning fretting over how he'd managed to upset Wolf-chan _this_ time and how he could make it better or at least get out of it—

Stomach acid sloshed, complaining bitterly of the gnawing absence of good, solid nutrition, reminding the poor Maou he'd been put off breakfast, too, entirely occupied with attempting to remember exactly what Wolf-chan had said to him this morning. He couldn't ask by then, of course, 'cause his fiancé was already long gone to the training grounds.

"Wolf-chaaan!"

In a valiant last-ditch effort to gain meaningful sustenance – and somehow distract Wolf-chan once more from this insane plan of his to 'practice' something that should really just happen naturally – later, much later - Yuuri whined piteously and opening his wounded black eyes wide, jerking his head to eye the basket with longing and completely avoiding the disarmingly gorgeous face that absolutely no distance from his own. He was well nigh faint with hunger now. Or something.

"Wolf-chan, can't we do 'that' later? After I _eat_, for Shinou's Sake?"

Firm fingers turned Yuuri's chin back decisively. _Whoa!_ He hadn't realized Wolf-chan was _right there_! Well, no, he _had_ realized that, more than realized, but, but--

"No."

A one word answer and for once it wasn't being screamed at him. Yuuri ignored his complaining belly – or tried to - and made an effort to give Wolf-chan his full and empathetic attention. Those green eyes were back to being steady and calm…and still, seconds were ticking merrily by, lost forever, and there was no hint of the usual angry recrimination. The imminent tears had been even forced back by manly willpower – if ever they were there in the first place.

"_Why?_ Why is this so important, Wolf-chan? Explain to me, ok? I just don't get it, alright? There's no need to hurry with this, you know. We have plenty of time _later_—"

"_No_. No, we don't, Yuuri, and if you ever managed to pay attention for more than two minutes at a time, you'd see that. There has never _once_ been a convenient moment to for this sort of thing, at least not according to _you_, you great big wimp."

Wolfram's palms moved to capture Yuuri's face, firmly holding him still so that there was no escape from those wonderful eyes, that calm and reasonable voice. And incidentally no escape either from the whipcord length resting against him, the wide shoulders, the narrow hips, the waist meant for grasping—

_Kill me now_, Yuuri repeated, but at least he had the good sense to keep it quiet.

"Not _once _have you ever kissed me voluntarily, Shibuya Yuuri, and since you _are_ the man I'm going to marry, we're going to rectify that _right this minute_."

Moist lips brushed daintily against the Maou's, once, twice, a third time. No warning. Unfair!

"Now."

They were back again, just barely parted to allow a curious tongue to tickle the edges of Yuuri's mummed lips.

"And _now_."

Wolf-chan was always a guy who acted impulsively, Yuuri decided, rushing into things when the other party involved wasn't quite ready. Might not ever be ready. His own hands were moving without conscious command, grasping Wolf-chan's shoulders, ready to shove him away the very next moment. He'd just have to—_he was_ really _hungry_—starving– and _everything smelled so _good_—like Wolf-chan--_

"I need to _know_, Yuuri," Wolf-chan whispered faintly, an ache in his voice that curled right into Yuuri's rumbling gut. "Plea—_mmph!_"

Those rosy lips were smooth and moist, Yuuri observed, now that his had been mashed firmly up against them a few times. They tasted of—of--his stomach growled again in counterpoint, but it was the tingle running down the teenage Maou's jaw that snagged his attention. His hands, apparently, had other ideas: his tasty fiancé had been hauled much, much closer, melded into his straining one – close enough to finally respond to this challenge fully, close enough to _devour_.

Utterly forgotten, the Maou's angry stomach finally quieted down, sulking. His mouth and hands, however, had not. Yuuri kissed the way he did everything: wholeheartedly.

"_Wolf_!"

"_Mmmmn_, Yuuri," Wolf opened his mouth just the tiniest bit wider to sigh his happiness – and was immediately invaded by a seducing tongue curling and sliding, poking and prodding.

"N'yum…_nyum!_" Yuuri commented, nipping and sipping, now hard, then soft.

"Ah! _Yes!_ Yuuri!"

Wolf-chan seemed to be okay with this Yuuri-initiated part of 'practice', the Maou realized with some relief, completely forgetting this was not _his_ idea in the first place. At least, Wolf had stopped talking, though he was panting just a little and appeared to be totally slack-jawed under the force of Yuuri's untutored kisses. Which was probably just another part of another of his diabolical plans to encourage Yuuri to give into his baser impulses. Wolfram was a boy---

"_Mmmmnn…Yuuri_."

A _beautiful_ boy. Mmmmm, absolutely mouth-watering. _Good_ plan.

And tasty. Yuuri found he liked this happily moaning version of Wolf-chan, rather a lot, enough to want to see more of it. Preferably all of it, unclothed. Wolfram-saliva was delightful on his tongue—Wolfram-tongue was more than pleasant as it met his own and mated more than willingly. The Maou sucked on it, pushing his own deep into the recesses of his fiancé's mouth, nipping Wolf's reddened lips when he was done there, and moved on to gnaw on the angle of his fiancé's dainty jaw where it melded elegantly into his neck. But these sips and tidbits seemed to only whet his hunger and he was absolutely starving now, damn it, after just _snacking_, so obviously the best thing to do was _eat more_. Right?

More, more!

The rest of the Maou's atrociously horny teenaged body jumped into the act, wrapping tight arms around Wolf-chan's lean back and shoulders to pull him closer, tightening squarish fingertips on the sweet curve of Wolf-chan's pert little butt to make sure the delectable blonde stayed close at hand for additional feasting.

For a split-second the last little remnants of Yuuri's coherent mind wondered if this was solely the Great Maou acting out his own private pervy fantasies, but the luscious slide of utter thrill that was running up Yuuri's spine convinced him it was all him. Just him. The Maou probably had one hell of a lot more experience with this romance-and-mushy stuff then _he _did, that was for sure, and would probably know how to get the stupid scratchy lace thingy off Wolf-chan's neck without ripping it – which _he_ did not, sadly, although the urge to nibble the skin there was maddening.

Wordless, but not soundless, because he was making the most adorable noises ever heard, at least in Yuuri's humble opinion, his yummy banquet of a fiancé arched obligingly backward over the curve of Yuuri's arm, conveniently giving the increasingly frantic Maou just the access he desired to the line of lovely throat where it descended into the jabot. The Maou's mouth was there immediately, licking and sucking, coaxing hickies to bloom with indecent haste and, in a moment more, Wolf-chan's knees had buckled entirely and he stumbled drunkenly into the table, semi-flailing.

With considerable agility that probably wasn't entirely his own the Maou whisked his fiancé round the low table and had them both seated on the padded bench, still kissing. Well, more than kissing. And reclining, because it wasn't exactly sitting _up_ anymore. Though other things were 'up', yes. Oh, yes.

Oh! Yuuri discovered that if he moved his hips just like this, Wolf-chan trembled and jerked, the accidental friction completely delicious. And, um, if he ground his pelvis down hard, just like that, Wolf-chan sobbed and ripped frantically at Yuuri's jacket. Which was good, because it was really _hot_ in here.

Better to get shed of all this damned fabric between them as soon as possible then, since it was only getting in the way of 'practice'.

The Maou was pretty sure Wolf-chan would be able to find those fancy-schmancy buttons later. Maybe. They made a nice sound as they hit the floor, ringing brightly as tiny golden bells as they rolled away. The needy sounds Wolf-chan was making were far more musical, of course, especially as they seemed to consist of Yuuri's name, various satisfied gasps, and the exact words Yuuri was thinking:

"More, more! _Yuuri_!"

Was that his belt buckle moving? Oh, excellent! Wolf-chan was just wonderful—

"Wolfram! Oh, Wolf-cub! My Wol--"

Who knows if they ever would've gotten to eat lunch? Or even made it back to the Castle by suppertime? But sadly, just as always when these two were making progress, a highly unwelcome intrusion appeared, an eerie dark outline obscuring the waterfall of sunshine just a step beyond the gazebo's arched entrance.

"_Yuuri 'n von Bielefeeeeld, _

_Sitting in a tree-eee! _

_K-I-S-S-I-N-Geee!"_

It sang. Full voice, natch, in a pleasant tenor.

"Bastard!" the Maou roared, ripping his shaggy head away from his contented suckling of Wolfram's bared chest to snarl furiously at the idiotic-and-supremely-annoying-know-it-all who was bellowing what sounded remarkably like an ancient chestnut of an obnoxious English nursery rhyme the Maou had learned in kindergarten. Damn it all to Hell! And he was the Maou! _He could do that!_

"_First comes luuuurve!_

_Then comes marriage! _

_Then comes baybeeee in the baybeee carriage!" _

"Asshole Sage!" shrieked Yuuri. "I'll kiiilllll youuuu!"

The Maou wavered alarmingly as he rose to his full, impressive height, full of righteous wrath and justful indignation at the Sage's bratty insolence, and fortunately collapsed immediately into senselessness without further comment – or bloodshed - pale as sheet in the cloud of the blue sparks dancing about his dark head. An ever-vigilant Wolfram deftly caught him one-handed on the descent, modestly clutching his rent shirt and wrinkled jacket together with the other, and rolled a lolling Yuuri securely against his naked shoulder with a graceful shrug, all the while shooting a particularly foul version of vicious glare in Murata Ken's direction. It was pure angry poetry in motion, the movements of a born dancer in the process of revving up into one hell of a hissy. Murata admired Wolfram's fervor on kind behalf of his good friend Yuuri, the Maou. Some people had all the luck.

"B-Bastard!"

The Maou chose that moment to groan piteously.

"Yuuri!? Are you alright? _Yuuri!?"_

The Sage dared poke his head fully into the private sanctuary Wolfram had claimed years ago with a singularly saucy grin plastered all over his usual myopic countenance, taking in the panoramic view of sprawled, unconscious Maou, delightfully and partially unclothed Fiancé and completely untouched picnic lunch and said:

"Hmm. Low blood sugar. Got him while he was going down, huh?"

"Tssss!"

The green eyes snapped and Wolfram von Bielefeld was most definitely one angry kitty. No question.

Murata nodded knowingly toward his pal-the-Maou and then slid his mocking eyes back toward Yuuri's tight-lipped fiancé.

"You'd better feed him quickly, Lord von Bielefeld. Lord von Kleist, Anissina, Sir Weller _and_ Greta are all on their way here and you've got just about ten minutes, I'd say, tops. I'd move fast if I were you."

"Ohhh! _You!_"

Helpless, unable to leave his defenseless fiancé and defend his – and Yuuri's – honor with his sword, as was proper, a totally irate and stunningly sexually frustrated Wolfram von Bielefeld cradled Yuuri's head on his recently licked chest and clenched his still shaky hands into furious fists, obviously only barely restraining himself from outright treasonable murder.

Glasses glinting gleefully, the dark head withdrew again with a parting nod and Wolfram could hear the Sage sauntering merrily away through the garden, whistling a jaunty tune.

"Oh! By the way," the Maou's-wise-friend-and-advisor called back over his black-clad shoulder, pausing only briefly between verses, "nice nipples!"


End file.
